29 #2
“Stand up,” he demands, and I do. I expect him to tell me to remove my clothes, but then he starts removing his, peeling off the thin gray uniform shirt.
Despite having seen him topless just an hour earlier, I’m distracted all over again by his tattooed skin and lean muscles, not to mention that goddamned pierced nipple.
He’s all sharp lines and contrast. Pale skin, black ink.
Cold irises, heated gaze. A few strands of dark hair fall across his forehead.
I think I might go mad with the desire to touch him.
Slade’s mouth curls into a smile. “Follow me.”
Wordlessly, I do as he says. He leads me to the other side of the sitting room where he proceeds to light the fireplace.
I want to tell him it’s not necessary—my skin feels hot enough to heat this entire building—but he ignores my raised hand.
Biting the inside of my cheek to conceal my frustration, I put it back down.
“Just a moment,” he says, slipping down the adjacent hallway and returning a moment later with a length of rope.
That smirk still playing at the corners of his lips, he motions for me to turn around.
Knowing what’s coming, I put my hands together.
Slade binds my wrists with one end of the rope, then loops the other end around my neck.
It’s loose as long as I squeeze my shoulder blades together and keep my hands lifted, but as soon as I relax too much, the rope cuts into the front of my neck.
Still, I’m stunned by how gentle he is as he ties the rope, pushing my hair out of the way and pressing his lips to my collarbone, exhaling just enough to coax a shiver across my skin.
I’m struck by the sudden realization that not only am I unable to touch him, but I also can’t raise a hand—not now.
Which means I can’t speak at all unless I want to disobey him.
“Kneel,” he says. “No, not there—in front of the fire.”
I scowl, shaking my head. It’s way too fucking hot for that.
A shadow crosses Slade’s face. When he speaks again, his tone is dangerous. “If you want to show me you’re sorry, little liar, you’ll kneel in front of the fireplace. Not too close, but near enough to feel the heat.”
This is part of his game, I realize, and a bolt of apprehension spears through me. Seeing my expression, Slade laughs.
“Did you think making you suffer would involve pleasuring you? Oh, no. I know you far too well already, Talin. I know you get off on pain, as long as I’m the one inflicting it.
I know how badly you want to see me hurt in return.
So I’m not going to give you those things.
” He places a hand on my shoulder, applying just enough pressure that my knees buckle.
My torso rocks forward, the bind around my neck tightening.
I straighten again as soon as I’m able, my heart pounding, sweat already beading on the back of my neck from the heat of the fire.
Once I’m kneeling where he wants me, Slade crouches down so that we’re eye level. I can see the barest dusting of dark hair along his jawline. “Warm, isn’t it?”
I nod. I’m not close enough to the flames that I’m in any danger of burning, but it’s definitely uncomfortable—almost unendurably so.
I’m sweating behind my knees, along my spine, in the divot between my breasts.
The apex of my thighs, too, is damp. Regardless of the discomfort, I’m enthralled by him.
The commanding note in his voice, and the deftness with which he tied the restraints.
I like it, knowing that I’m giving him what he wants, even if it means I have to suffer.
Since I can’t touch him, I can only hope he will touch me, but I’m painfully aware that I’m still fully clothed. Indeed, the only contact he makes is to draw an index finger across my brow, and I grimace as he wipes away the perspiration there.
Slade shakes his head in mock disappointment. “A good girl wouldn’t give me that look.”
I fight to control my expression, but it’s too late; he draws his knife again. This time I see him do it, the blade flashing in the firelight as he flicks it open. I keep my breathing steady, trying not to recoil. I don’t think he’ll cut me, though I can’t be sure. Do I want him to?
“Open your mouth,” he says. The order catches me off guard, but I do as he orders. He sets the handle of the knife between my teeth. “Bite down.”
Again, I do. The weapon is heavier than I expect, and my jaw muscles strain with the effort of holding it in place. I have no choice though; if I let my chin dip even slightly, the rope bites into my throat.
Slade brushes my hair back from my forehead. “Very good,” he croons. “Now, you’re going to stay there until I untie you. Understood?” He brings his lips to the shell of my ear. “And don’t you dare let that knife fall.”
Then he straightens, disappearing around the corner and down the hallway. I remain where I am. My entire body aches, my jaw most of all. The muscles of my neck and shoulders are tight, my legs have begun to fall asleep, and I’m covered head to toe in a thin layer of sweat.
I don’t know where Slade went, nor how much time is passing. It feels like a small eternity.
Some part of my brain knows this is absurd, but it’s not the part I’m currently using.
That part knows there isn’t a chance in hell I’m moving a single muscle.
It’s not that I enjoy discomfort; I’m a willful person, and what I crave is the way it feels to give up all of that, if only for a short time.
No more thinking. No more decisions. There’s a freedom that comes from letting someone else take control, no matter how ill-advisable that someone might be.
I shift only when I hear the latch at the front door click, letting the knife fall from my teeth. Slade appears as if from thin air, summoned by the sound of my disobedience, and snaps his fingers at me.
“Stay,” he commands curtly.